A BSG/Hitchhiker's Guide Crossover
by Aliana
Summary: Apollo and Starbuck meet up with Arthur Dent and company


A BSG Crossover Story . . .  
  
The shuttle had been returning from a simple supply inquiry at one of the older, more remote ships of the fleet. Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck had been investigating some inconsistencies in records and probing the connections to some other problems that seemed to be stirring. Highly unlikely that any trouble could develop on a trip back to the Galactica from within the Fleet. Most unlikely. Most improbable . . .  
  
The blinding flash of light permeated the shuttle from out of nowhere, enveloping it, then disappearing, taking the craft with it. Tasting too metallic and bland for it, though, the not-so-super-intelligent, inter-dimensional being spat the shuttle back out as it reappeared briefly into normal space, some 5000 light years away. . .  
  
All systems had been scrambled by the fleeting encounter with the space creature. The shuttle tumbled in a slow rotation end over end, powerless. Inside, Apollo shook his head as the overwhelming dizziness settled into a dull headache and tried to orient himself. Yet the interior continued to swim and turn in the darkness. . . until he grabbed hold of a seat back and stopped his zero-gravity spinning. Darn. Had better strap in the next time! With all systems out, including artificial gravity, he and Starbuck had floated from their seats.  
  
"Urgh!" Starbuck's voice came from behind. "What a hangover! But I don't remember drinking - oh, wait!" Starbuck had finally figured out his problem, too, and had braced himself against a storage locker. Squinting, he could just barely make out Apollo's form at the front of the shuttle, silhouetted by the dim star field out the viewport. Concentrating, he visualized where the emergency lights were stored and pulled himself in that direction. Donning a headlamp, he then propelled himself along until he had reached the copilot's chair and plopped himself down next to Apollo.  
  
Having strapped himself in with his safety harness, Apollo was busily and unsuccessful trying to restart the systems. Starbuck handed him an emergency light. "Better get the oxygen masks ready," the captain said, glancing at his friend as he quickly pulled the strap over his head. "We've got maybe 20 centons of breathable air, if the life support systems don't restart. Maybe the Galactica will located us, but we can't even send a distress signal right now!"   
  
"Hmm! So what happened?" Starbuck, secured in his seat, took a good look out the viewport for the first time, and blinked as he realized just what was missing as he watched the rotation of the stars, as the shuttle continued its gentle tumbling, in fascination and increasing alarm. "Uh . . . Apollo, where's the Fleet?"   
  
Apollo glanced up. "What do you mean, 'where's the Fleet'?" He, too, took a good look out the viewport. Now, since the viewport provided a wide-angle image of the space ahead, the 360 degree rotation of the shuttle gave them a pretty good look in all directions. And in all directions they saw . . . stars, nothing else. "Frak," Apollo muttered. "I can't get a fix on our location unless we can restart the navigational computer!"  
  
Both Apollo and Starbuck busily began working on the control panel, cross-wiring, cross-connecting, pleading, cursing, banging. Nothing seemed to be working. Finally, Starbuck looked up and stared at the rotating stars in exasperation. And a huge, glowing, yet darkly grey, object filled the screen for a moment as the view floated past. "What the frak!" Starbuck grabbed Apollo's shoulder. "We're on a collision course!"  
  
Apollo snapped his attention to the viewport and tensed when the massive object filled the screen for a moment, before the shuttle nose rotated on. "Where did *that* come from?" was all he could say.  
  
"Well, buddy, this is getting-" Starbuck didn't get to finish his thought, because they were once more enveloped in a swirling, blinding, overwhelming light.  
  
*****  
  
"Oh, my head!" Starbuck groaned, grabbing his head with both hands. He peeled his eyes open, blinking against the bright light that streamed through the viewport. He groaned again and look over at Apollo. The captain was just beginning to regain consciousness, with his head rocking from side to side, eyes still closed.  
  
"Apollo!" he shouted at him, then grimaced against the pain that caused in his skull. A bit more quietly, he said again, "Apollo!"  
  
"Hmmm." The captain finally pulled his head up and fluttered his eyelids open. "Where are we?" he said softly as he focused his gaze, squinting through the viewport.  
  
Starbuck looked out of the shuttle again. They were inside . . . something . . . that had a shiny, new metallic gleam to it. Through the viewport, they could see panels, what might have been a door, and what seemed to be a counter complete with a sink. The lieutenant glanced at the still-very-dead control panel, then at his chronometer. Was the air becoming thinner? He thought he felt his chest beginning to heave a bit. Might be - only about five centons of breathable atmosphere left. "Uh, Apollo, I think we'd better break out the breathers and see where we are."  
  
Apollo nodded and unfastened his safety harness. A moment later, both were wearing oxygen masks as they descended cautiously out of the shuttle. Their boots clanked on the gleaming metallic surface as they stepped down. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all made of the same shiny, new-looking material. But where were they? Lasers drawn, they walked slowly forward, scanning all around. The chamber was basically deserted, except for their ship. A glance behind revealed massive, closed doors. A shuttle bay or cargo hold, Apollo figured.  
  
Both men snapped their heads around at the sound of a door swooshing open. In the threshold stood two human males and a tall, square-ish robot, of sorts, towering above the humans by nearly a metron. The warriors trained their weapons on the new arrivals and stood still, waiting. One man had blond hair and wore a jacket, scarf, white shirt, and pants. The other had rather disheveled black hair and wore what seemed to be a sleeping clothes beneath a rather worn bathrobe . . . The dark-haired man shrank back at the sight of the weapons and made whimpering noises. The other seemed unconcerned. The large robot made low, droning voice sounds, but the words were incomprehensible. The tone had an almost depressing effect on the Warriors, though.  
  
Apollo stepped forward, lowered his weapon, and said, "We're from the Battlestar Galactica. Where are we?" Both he and Starbuck slowly put their lasers back in their holsters.  
  
The blond looked at the robot, motioning in their direction and said several sentences - all unintelligible to the Colonials. Then he gave them a big grin and walked slowly towards them, hands extended in a peaceful gesture. He stopped within a half-metron and pulled something from his pocket - two somethings. And they looked like . . . small, yellowish, worm-like . . . fish.   
  
Starbuck made a face and Apollo just stared at the creatures. The lieutenant asked, even though he knew the man would not understand, "What are we supposed to do - eat them?" A brief glance at the door showed the dark-haired man peeking cautiously around the robot, who was droning on and on in the same low, most despondent voice.  
  
The blond grinned and pointed to his ear. Apollo shrugged and shook his head, not understanding. The other took a step forward, coming within arm's length of the warriors. His grin expanded as he slowly raised the two fish-like things. And tossed them at the warriors.   
  
Startled, both flinched and ducked. Starbuck swatted at the airborne creature. The small creatures seemed to wriggle and float in the air - then zipped lightning fast toward each warrior's ear. With a slimy pop, they disappeared inside. Both gabbed at their ears, surprised and shocked. "Arrrgh!" groaned Starbuck. "Why did you -" He stopped abruptly when he suddenly realized that he could understand what the robot was saying in its constant droning. "What the --?"  
  
Apollo gaped at the blond man, who had crossed his arms and had a very satisfied look on his face. He finally said, in perfectly recognizable words, "Greetings, gentlemen! Welcome to the Heart o' Gold!"  
  
Behind him, the robot could be heard saying, " . . . brain the size of a small planet, and what do they ask me to do? Round up a bunch of hitchhikers. So mind-boggling boring. Am I supposed to enjoy it? Well I don't. And then I have to listen to . . ."  
  
The blond man noticed Starbuck staring in bewilderment at the robot and said, "Never mind him! He's just being his cheery old self! My name's Ford Prefect, and the man cowering behind the barrel-of-laughs is Arthur Dent. He's had a bit of a rough day. And that's Marvin - the Paranoid Android." Ford paused to watch the Colonials' faces waver through a range of emotions - disbelief, shock, amusement, confusion.  
  
Apollo finally said, "What's this fish doing in my ear?" He shook his head, though he felt nothing now, and wondered vaguely what the creature was doing to him.  
  
"Oh, that! It's a Babel Fish. It's the whole reason you can understand us now. I won't go into the boring details, though." Ford smiled at the two baffled looking warriors. "Oh, by the way, the air's quite breathable, unless you enjoy that plasticky smell of oxygen masks." Ford made a face, then grinned cheerfully.   
  
The two warriors hesitated a moment. Cautiously, they pulled the masks off, letting them drop to the floor, taking shallow, careful breaths. All seemed fine.  
  
Ford motioned impatiently. "Let's head back to the bridge and see what Trillian and Zaphod are up to. This way, please!" At that, he turned and strolled out into the corridor, not bothering to check to see if the guests were, indeed, following.  
  
Apollo and Starbuck stared at each other for a moment, shrugged, then headed towards the door. As they passed through, they thought they heard a voice say, "Glad to be of service!"  
  
************  
By the time they reached the bridge, both warriors had a slight headache from listening to the monotone drone of Marvin, as he continued his endless monologue. " . . . do you now how much brain power it takes to perform these mindless tasks that they always seem to ask of me? Zero. Zippo. Nada. If I actually slept, being a robot, I could perform these tasks in my sleep, but that would be too kind. No, I must always be conscious of how incredibly, numbingly bored I am . . ."  
  
The door to the bridge opened with the chirping voice of the PPP's (Pleasing People Personality) "Glad to be of service!"  
  
Apollo and Starbuck followed Ford onto the bridge, but stopped at the sight of Zaphod. Unfortunately, Arthur did not stop, so he stumbled into them. Regaining his footing, Starbuck, still staring, finally said, pointing, "Hey, he's got two heads!"  
  
"Give the man the I-can-state-the-obvious award!" Zaphod said with just a trace of sarcasm. He swiveled his chair around to face the visitors, lounged back, legs crossed, and slipped a hand behind each head. A third hand held a drink, which he waved in their direction. "Hey, Trillian, how 'bout a drink for our guests?"  
  
"Perhaps, Zaphod, we should deal with large number of approaching ships, which seem to be on a collision course."  
  
Both warriors turned their stares to the other, much more human-looking human, a blonde woman, wearing a tight, silvery suit. Starbuck's mouth opened and closed several times.  
  
Zaphod appeared unconcerned. "Just engage the Infinite Improbability Drive and let the ship handle it."  
  
"IID is off-line. Thirty ships approaching at 300,000 kilometers and closing. It wold appear that a coupling has come loose. It will need to be repaired from the exterior." Trillian's voice was equally calm.  
  
"What are we going to do?" Arthur Dent's voice was not. The view screen suddenly illuminated with a fleet of menacing-looking, dark grey ships, all rapidly expanding in size as they rapidly approached.  
  
"Marvin, get out there and fix that coupling, will ya?" Zaphod waved his drink in the robot's direction.  
  
Marvin threw up his arms. "Why not? It might feel good to be blasted into a million tiny pieces. Certainly would feel better than my current mind-numbingly dull existence . . ." The robot ambled out of the bridge. Everyone looked relieved.  
  
Trillian touched a button, and suddenly the approaching fleet vanished.   
  
"What the -?" Apollo stammered. "What happened to those ships?"  
  
Zaphod grinned with one head while taking a long drink with the other. "Oh, that was just a recording. An amusing way to get rid of Marvin for a bit."  
  
"Oh." Apollo stared around at the assorted humans. "Look, could someone please tell us what's going on?"   
  
Trillian stood and walked slowly, deliberately, hips swaying, over to a dispenser, making sure that Starbuck's eyes were still glued to her form. Slowly, she filled two glasses and flowed gracefully back to offer the warriors a drink.   
  
Zaphod whispered, "Trillian, you didn't, did you?"  
  
Starbuck was too enraptured to notice the comment. Still staring at the way Trillian had draped herself over her copilot seat --- legs crossed, chest arched as she leaned back, arms behind the seat, cleavage poised to sprout from her partially-unzipped suit -- he was about to take a sip.  
  
Apollo slapped the drink out of Starbuck's hand. "What do you mean, 'you didn't, did you'?"  
  
Starbuck was about to protest, when he noticed the spilled beverage was sizzling and bubbling on the floor, making a black, scorched-looking mark. He jumped back, the spell broken. "Hey! What are you trying to do?"  
  
Trillian was laughing. "I'm sorry," she said between sobbing breaths of laughter. "I just couldn't resist . . ."  
  
Starbuck was still staring at the now dry but obviously burned spot on the floor. Apollo tossed his drink aside and glared from Trillian to Zaphod and back. "Look, just what in Hades is going on here?"  
  
"A bit of feminist sense of humor, dear gentlemen. That was the Pangalactica Garglebaster. Most deadly, unless you're a Tritanium Goolabeth from Areus, or the President of the Galaxy." Zaphod point a finger at his chest. "Me."  
  
Prank forgotten with that last statement, Apollo said, "You're the what?"  
  
"The President of the Galaxy, gentlemen."  
  
Trillian cleared her throat. "Ah, make that the ex-, now-wanted-criminal-for stealing-this-ship President."  
  
"Technicality!"   
  
"Look, why do you guys look like something out of a 1970's TV show?" Arthur Dent had finally found the presence of mind to speak.  
  
"We what?" Apollo threw up his hands. "Okay. We surrender. Can someone please explain where we are and how we got here and how do we wake up from this absurd dream?"  
  
Trillian stood and approached Starbuck seductively, ready to run a finger under his chin. The lieutenant pulled back. "Would that be dream or nightmare?" he asked Apollo.  
  
Satisfied that he had learned his lesson, Trillian zipped her suit front back up to her chin, then said, "You have been brought aboard the Heart o' Gold spaceship, the first ship to be fitted with the new Infinite Improbability Drive. Zaphod, of course, cool, hip ex-President that he now is, had to steal it to take on a joyride."  
  
"But how did *we* get here?" Starbuck had recovered enough to think again.  
  
"When the IID is engaged, all things impossibly improbable become routinely possible and almost certain."  
  
"Huh?"   
  
"You were transported aboard by the ship when we last engaged the IID."  
  
"So where are we? And can we get back home?"  
  
Zaphod waved three hands. "Not a problem! We'll just dump your ship back in space when we next engage the drive!"  
  
"And that'll get us home?" Apollo looked doubtful.  
  
"Oh, most certainly, since the odds of you being zapped back to the exact same location of your part of time and space would be . . ." Trillian punched some numbers into the computer. "397,200,000,000 to one."  
  
Starbuck decided to quit trying to understand it. Instead, he asked, "So where are we, anyway?"  
  
"We're 3.2 light-years from the star, Alpha Centari," Trillian answered.  
  
"Oh." Apollo decided to ask the obvious question that had been on his and Starbuck's minds. "Do you know of a planet called Earth?"  
  
Arthur groaned. "Don't even mention it!"  
  
"But that's what we've been searching for for over a yahren!" Apollo told the crew about the Colonies, the Cylons, and humanity's desperate search for the Thirteenth Tribe and new home for the survivors.   
  
At the end, Zaphod gave a bored sigh. "Spare me the details! I've got some bad news for you chaps. The Earth was blown up to make way for an intergalactic hyper-bypass."  
  
"What?!" Apollo and Starbuck said at the same time.  
  
"Yes!" Arthur looked more suitably upset. "It's gone! Blown to smithereens! Worst day of my life here, you know."  
  
"Now what?" Apollo spoke softly, gazing at Starbuck. "What do we tell the commander?"  
  
Zaphod grumbled, "Look, fellows, if you're going to be this boring and serious about it, I'd just as soon you went back to your ship. Or go help Marvin. Lighten up! Have some fun!"  
  
Ford had brought out a small, black, rectangular computer-looking device. The words, "Don't panic" were printed on the front, the two warriors noticed. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll see what the Guide has to say about your star system."  
  
"The Guide?" Apollo gave a puzzled look, nodding at the device.  
  
"Yeah, this." Ford held it up. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Let's see what it has to say about your 'twelve colonies' and Kobol." He punched in some information.   
  
A moment later, a smooth voice said, "A group of people who had the major misfortune to actually believe that the incredibly one-track-minded Cylons would accept a peace treaty. They subsequently fled their blown-to-bits planets in search of the legendary 13th Tribe, believing it to be Earth. Through a quirk in the space-time continuum, events of their plight were recorded on a 1970's sci-fi show called "Battlestar Galactica."  
  
'Hey! I thought you looked familiar!" Arthur waved an accusatory finger at the warriors.  
  
"TV show?" Apollo said, feeling faint suddenly.   
  
"Well, does that thing say what happened to the Fleet?" Starbuck was beginning to feel simply annoyed, convinced now that this was, as Apollo had said, just an awful joke being played on him by his subconscious mind - a dream.  
  
The Guide continued, "After searching for 22 years, the Fleet finally settled on an Earth-equivalent planet, once transmissions from the real Earth were detected by the Galactica's sensors. Upon further analysis of the transmissions, which mainly included TV sitcoms and advertisements, it was determined that Earth was not worth bothering with."  
  
"Oh." Apollo was looking more dejected.  
  
"Look, I hate to interrupt this fun little party," Trillian said cheerfully, "but it's time to continue on. That flashing light -- " She pointed to a blinking light on the control panel. "is the Hypergalactic Patrol (or HyPs) about to ask for this ship back. I think we'd better take our guests back to their shuttle, so they can be on their way, too."  
  
As Marvin ambled back in, complaining about not seeing any approaching ships or finding any coupling malfunctions, Apollo and Starbuck waved goodbye and practically ran back to their shuttle, their keen warrior senses remembering the way. They barely heard all of the "Glad to be of service" comments, and it was with great, great relief that they finally locked themselves in their craft.  
  
******  
  
Apollo shook his head as the overwhelming dizziness settled into a dull headache and tried to orient himself. The shuttle was dark, all systems dead. Starbuck, barely visible from the faintest of light slipping through the view screen, was shaking his head, too. Both felt groggy, as if they had been asleep.  
  
"Lords . . . I had the weirdest dream." He mumbled. "Two-headed guy who said he was the President of the Galaxy, a beautiful girl with a deadly sense of humor, fish in the ear to translate . . ."  
  
Apollo froze. "No. I won't believe it. There's no way that all that happened and *that* is what awaits us."  
  
"I don't follow you. It was just a dream. . . right?"  
  
"Well, I had the same dream, then." Apollo felt numb.  
  
"Frak. No way! Just a shared hallucination, buddy."  
  
Apollo gave his friend a numb look. "Lords, I hope so . . ."  
  
THE END  



End file.
